


Choking on Hatred

by Zsterwriter14



Series: Hanahaki Au [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst with a probable happy ending, Baby bodies can't grow flowers, Cloud Flames, Gen, Hate to Love, Immortality, Linear and non linear Narrative, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Reborn makes stupid assumptions, Russian Skull, Skull has a territory, Skull is very confused, Skull's off stage name is CHEREP, Stuntwork, This is the actual fic, Unrequited Love, Verde and Skull are friends, hanahaki, until the curse is lifted, which is good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zsterwriter14/pseuds/Zsterwriter14
Summary: Between the simple lack of time, interest, and willingness to share his space. Skull de Mort excepted with a cheerful grace that there was no one for the ‘great skull’. It would figure that he would fall in love with the one person he didn't like at the same time he got thrown headfirst into the mafia.This wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't been choking on flowers.





	Choking on Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> This is the actual fic, complete with multiple chapters because this is going to be at least 3.

Before Skull de Mort met I Prescelti Sette he really had no time to fall in love with someone, not even if he wanted to. He was a rising star as stuntman and most of his time had been wrapped up in planning his shows, making sure his bike wouldn’t fall apart, and working with his publicist to spread his name. That was fine though, he loved being a stuntman. He loved the non-violent rush he got from jumps that would kill a normal person if they did just one thing wrong, the feeling of absolute weightlessness when he was mid air of those precious minutes while doing flips and other acrobatics. 

Skull even liked it when he wiped-out. The sharp bite of scrape marks, the intense heat of friction burns, the evidence that he was _alive_ that no one could take from him. He especially like the violet flames that flickered just out of sight along his skin, soothing the hurts away and healing his cuts. It was like having an a secret super power that only weird zombies knew about... 

_Skull was never getting any sort of innocence back after the lecture the vindice gave him after the first time he manifested the strange purple glow when he was young. They were terrifying and very helpful with their explanations but they were still zombies with long black chains. Skull is one of the best at not exposing his flames to the public despite his incredible purity and flame source, and that continued into his actual jaunt into the flame mafia._

The point was, Skull had no real time for people who weren’t his publicist and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. His people skills were good at first glance. He knew how to be _Skull de Mort_ and people expected Skull de Mort to be an over enthusiastic, showman confident in his skills. The problem arose when people tried to see the actual person behind de Mort, the man behind the curtain if you will. That's when things tended to fall apart for him. 

The thing was behind all of the make-up and bluster you got Cherep. Cherep who only really listened in a conversation when it involved either mechanics or stunt work, which drove his publicist up the wall. He was fine with fans because when he put on the stage make up and the bike leathers he was Skull, and they mostly wanted to know about his stunts anyways. 

Take those key features away, tone down the makeup and let him wear his dark t-shirts and leather jacket, he became a quiet loner with a far away, bored, gaze. His publicist often complained how all of his energy was tied up in being Skull De Mort, when the show was over you had less than an hour to get anything else done before he went back to his apartment for a week. _No one_ was allowed into the apartment, which made even considering a long term lover out of the question. 

_His publicist tried to follow him all of once, and then spent a week on traction with Skull glaring at them during visitor hours. Cherep was defensive of his space with a passion that rivaled that he had for stunt work. He was never able to explain it to his publicist other than it was his space. He bought the entire building after his first big show. Checkerface met him outside a arena instead._

Between the simple lack of time, interest, and willingness to share his space. Skull de Mort excepted with a cheerful grace that there was no one for the ‘great skull’. It would figure that he would fall in love with the one person he didn't like at the same time he got thrown headfirst into the mafia.

* * *

Skull braced himself the wall of the bathroom, curling in over himself in pain. “Fuckin’ dammit.” He hissed through clenched teeth, tears gathering in his eyes. He stumbled over to the toilet just as the coughing started, the solid weight of flowers forcing their way up his trachea with a horrible retching sound. 

His makeup ran down his face with tears as the crumpled blossoms fell from his lips. He could recognize the bright hues of orange day lillies, red and yellow carnations, the butter yellow hyacinths; Hate, disappointment and admiration, jealousy all fell in clumps into the porcelain bowl. The specks of blood dripping from his torn throat spread out in small ribbons through the water. 

Eventually the grasping feeling in his chest stopped as he choked out one last flower onto the bathroom floor. His breath came back to him in wheezing gasps with the taste of flowers on his tongue, his make up absolutely ruined by both tears and the blood smeared into his lipstick. Cloud flames puffed out of his mouth with each exhale, the soft burn of them traveling through his lungs repairing the damage. 

He lies his head on the edge of the toilet seat, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself back into a semblance of the Skull de Mort personality. It was hard to do outside of his apartment, almost impossible to do inside of this particular bathroom. 

It was a nice bathroom that was all soft greys, black, and purples, with flower scented soaps and soft fluffy towels. The problem was that it wasn't _his_ bathroom, it was the bathroom attached to the room he used in the Arcobaleno né the I prescelti-sette mansion. His bathroom might be a bit grungy with peeling sky blue paint and fake grey plastic tiles, but it was the one he had been using ever since his first gig after high school. It had his scentless soaps and his varied array of makeup spread over the chipped counter that spilled over onto the top of the toilet’s tank. 

It was where he first became Skull de Mort with cheap costume makeup and a tube of purple lipstick that took most of his food money for that month. 

The bathroom he’s currently was nice, but it wasn’t his. It was after all in this bathroom the one he almost suffocated that first time because he fell in love with someone he hated. 

He took a shaky breath in, fumbling to pull his cellphone out of his pants with his shaking. He pulled back from the toilet to lean against the wall, the cool tile soothing what hurt it could. 

His phone latches onto his flame signature before unlocking with a cheerful chime that almost gets a smile on his face. His background picture is one of him, oodako, and Corra; his publicist turned right hand scowling where he had them tucked up into his side. He shoots them a reassuring text which probably just makes them worry because he never texts unless he's not doing particularly well. 

The next thing he did was call up Verde, who had sequestered himself into the basement of the mansion where his lab was. The phone barely had a chance to ring before the call was picked up. “Skull,” Verde intoned flatly in lieu of a greeting. 

“Heeey Verde, how are you doing, cause I feel like shit.” Skull responded in a cheery tone so fake it made him feel fragile. Like a glass perched on the edge of a table, tethering between stability and breaking against the ground. 

There was a heavy pause on Verde's end hat said more than enough, Skull hiccuped back a sob. Emotional expression always came much more readily to him as Skull, like he opened a jar when he put on the makeup. Everything was more present, the exhilaration was magnificent, but that meant he also breaks down all the easier. “He barely looked at me Verde, just a passing glance from talking to Collenello and suddenly the flowers are back.” He whispered into the phone, voice tight from trying to keep the hitching sobs from his voice. He felt overwhelmed, from the lack of his safe space and from aching pain of being in love with someone who didn't give him the time of day. “It hurts so much.” 

”Cherep. Calm down,” Verde snapped, the sharp command with his name snatching his attention. “You _will_ suffocate yourself if you keep up with your emotional outburst. Take a deep breath, take off your ridiculous makeup, and come down to the lab. This needs to be monitored.” 

Skull gasped out a laugh, wiping at his tears with his free hand. “Yeah, okay. Be there in ten.” He agreed, looking up at the flawlessly painted dove grey ceiling that wasn’t the peeling white one he wanted it to be. The phone call cut off with a click, allowing him to drop his arm onto his lap. He closed his eyes to the outside world, pushing the uncomfortable emotions back into the box for Skull de Mort. 

It was never a flawless job, the sadness and frustration still lingered in the hollow of his chest with hopeless admiration and a burning love fitting to be directed at a man that was the brightest sun. He pushed himself up from the floor regardless, scooping up the lonely bloom with him as he stumbled to the counter. 

He looked like shit, he thought, his eyes were red with the glisten of makeup stained tears running down his face. The flowers had rubbed of a good deal of his lipstick and blood saturated saliva ran down his chin. He frowned at it before using the sink to soak one of the small hand towels. The lack of the wet wipes he usually used to remove his makeup grated him, just compounding his desire to hide away in his apartment increasing. 

He sighed, Verde was waiting for him. 

He would go back later.The longer he stayed around reborn...the more chance he had of getting caught. He didn't need to give the hitman that satisfaction. 

* * *

_Post Fated day (Day one as an Arcobaleno)_

Corra had been the publicist of Skull de Mort for almost a seven years. 

They had been his best friend for almost twelve. 

They had met each other in Secondary school back when no one talked to Corra because they were not a boy or a girl and they didn’t talk to Cherep because Cherep was skinny, wore makeup, had purple hair, and went in and out of the hospital like it had a revolving door. 

Being associated with Cherep had its ups and downs. On one hand, because of Cherep, they were the landlord of a decent apartment building, they had a gulltutted income from being his publicist, and they had a network of contacts that rivalled a few information brokers. 

On the other hand, they had to deal with Cherep’s almost personality disorder level stage persona, the magical flame mafia they were now a part of, and they ran a mafia family out of an apartment building. The same apartment building where they gotten beat up by said friend, and where they sometimes they found fellow victims in the dumpster in the back alley. The same people who turned around and came to _them_ asking to join Cherep’s non-existent famiglia. _Cherep was Russian, he was never in a **Italian mafia family**!_ Apparently, in the flame mafia looser serves winner and Cherep never loses in his apartment. 

The absolute worst part of being friends with Cherep was the fact that they loved him like a brother. So when Cherep finally came back from that job they pushed him into _crying_. Crying because he had fallen in love with one of the worst people in the Mafia and he was coughing up flowers. Cherep who didn’t cry when his bone was sticking out of his arm because he had almost managed the quad flip on his bike and he was ecstatic. Cherep who didn’t always understand why he couldn’t beat people up for invading his space. _If the man in the iron hat hadn’t threatened them, they knew Cherep never would have agreed._ That had been two months ago and they still couldn’t forget the sight of bright orange flower petals falling from their friends lips. 

Being friends with Cherep was hard work and they had been doing it for a while. They had survived meeting the second coming of da vinci, Verde. They had been so sure that they could handle anything Cherep threw at them. 

_They were so wrong._

They had known something was wrong when Cherep had buzzed them to get let into the building. “Can you repeat that again?” They asked dubiously into the intercom. 

There was a whining sound that was similar to the one Cherep made when he was impatient except two octaves too high. “Corra I need you to let me in, I can’t reach the doorknob.” The Cherep sound alike growled. Corra was torn, on the one hand, Cherep had apparently just come back from a treasure hunt so hands could be full. On the other, it could be a really bad imitation of their best friend to try and get entry into their mafia HQ. “Ah! Hey, keep those where I can see them.” 

Corra’s face twisted, ”If you’re asking me to open the door because you have a one ni-” They started. 

”No! No. Nothing of the sort, can you please just let me in.” Cherep pleaded, in the same tone he used when Corra tried to make him sign the paperwork. 

They sighed, “Fine, but I’m coming down to get you.” They said in resignation. If it was another mist or mafia member trying to trick them Corra had the home field advantage. Their flames were saturated into the very bricks of this place, covering everything that wasn't Cherep's territory in protective lightning and distracting mist. They waited to see if the person hesitated, for a sign they weren't actually Cherep. 

”Oh, That’s even better, I don’t think i’d be able to get up the stairs.” 

Corra found themselves at the main entrance to the apartment fast enough that they suspected their mist flames at work. Worry gnawed at their stomach now, they hadn’t considered that the job could that bad. He had the world’s strongest people looking out for him for god's sake. Here they could feel the barest edges of Cherep’s cloud flames against the door, that only served to further motivate them. Cherep’s flames were like being in the middle of a Cumulus cloud, fluffy and impressive, these were barely wisps. 

They pulled the door open, and blinked when they didn’t see their friend in their immediate line of sight. “Uh... Down here Corra.” A amused sounding Cherep called from lower than expected, with the same higher pitched voice. 

Corra closed their eyes, leaned against the door and pinched their forehead. “Do I even want to know.” They asked flatly, already done with Cherep. They did not want to look, if they looked it became their problem. 

”It might be important.” Cherep said amused, “You are my publicist after all.” 

Corra bit back a whine, they were the mature one in this relationship. They opened their eyes and looked down at their best friend. 

Their expression soured further, giving themselves a moment to take in what they were looking at. “I can deal with the miniaturization,” they decided, startling a laugh out of Cherep, “That makes my job so much easier, but I would have prefered a one night stand. How are you planning on taking care of that?” 

Cherep, who was significantly smaller than when Corra last saw him, had the gall to look down at the octopus sitting in his tiny helmet like he hadn’t noticed he was carrying it. When he glanced back up at Corra, his large mauve purple eyes were glittering with excitement. “I have a tank he can use in my apartment, it’s pretty self-sustaining.” He said with the same tone he used when talking about stunt work and mechanics. 

”You have a- Of course you do.” Corra muttered, pinching their forehead again to try and circumvent the oncoming headache. Cherep didn’t have many hobbies outside of his two main interests, but he had always had a fascination for ocean creatures. A thought came to them, that made something that felt like dread hit their stomach. “Is this going to exasbetate your con-?” 

Cherep cut them off with a bright grin that was tinged with the pain and gloom that the man always invoked in Cherep, “The flowers aren’t there anymore! Me an Verde think plan C might actually work now.” He said happily hugging the octopus holding helmet to himself. Corra felt something heavy melt from their shoulders, filling them with relief. 

They bent down and scooped up their babified best friend to his displeasure. Corra had never actually held a baby even close to how small Cherep was but the mini stuntman didn’t seem all that uncomfortable. He fidgeted a bit, moving the helmet to rest comfortably more on Corra than himself. “Well, now that you can’t do stunt work, that means you can focus on doing your paperwork for the mafia family _you_ started.” 

Cherep froze in their arms for a good minute before He groaned, burrowing his head in Cora’s shoulder. “Mean.” He stated. 

Corra rolled their eyes, moving back into the apartment complex. “I wasn’t the one who let the people I beat up stay in my apartment building.” They said simply, ganrinering no argument. “Now I want to know exactly what happened on that job and what were doing now.” 

Cherep sighed, “Fine, but I’m calling Verde to explain all of the boring stuff.” He grumped. 

Corra rolled their eyes again, “Fine. I’m just glad your not dead.” They retorted, “I need to know if you’ll keep” 

Cherep was quiet for a bit, pressing just a bit more into Corra’s shoulder. At some point Corra was going to squish Cherep’s face to see if it was a soft and squishy as it look. “I’m happy to be home.” 

Corra smiled softly, “Welcome home.” 

* * *

Cherep was slumped tiredly on the metal examination table, his hands cradling a mostly intact light pink flower with a despondent sigh. His face was paler than usual without more than a hint of his constant eyeliner, the only color on his lips was the bright red of saliva saturated blood. 

”What's the meaning behind that one?” Verde asked, his tone a bit more concerned than usual. Skull's notebook sat on the desk next to him, it was a purple and white composition notebook with little doodle of octopi and motorcycles on the cover from when Skull had got on his hands on it when Verde wasn't looking. The contents were half filled with Verde's observations about the cloud and the results of numerous tests. The other half was a list of flowers and their meanings next to a list of dates and numerous thesi on how Hanahaki worked in accordance with Cloud flames. 

”Consuming passion,” Cherep wheezed before dropping the flower to cough into his hands. It was a harsh sound layered with a wet scraping sound as more flowers traveled up his throat. He spat out blood speckled flower petals of various warm shades into his hands, panting shallowly. 

”You do realise I am not an actual medical practitioner.” Verde said even as he presses a stethoscope the the bare skin of the Stuntman's chest. 

Cherep hissed weakly at the cold touch, before giving the scientist a wet grin. “You're the only one I trust do help me with it though.” He said with a wheezy false cheer. The scientist didn't noticeably react to the statement but the lightning flames that saturated his lab tingles pleased against Cherep's own. 

Cherep’s relationship with Verde was easy to breakdown into to two main parts. The part that everyone saw was their shared interest in mechanics, the two of them bickering over the spilled guts of some engine or vehicle, with Skull covered in grease. They didn't do it often because Reborn would inevitably interrupt to either bother Verde or abduct Skull to be his lackey. 

The second part was a constant set of exchanges between the two of them. Cherep’s blatant dismissal of his own questionable mortality and Verde's need for a living test subject with a strong flame output made Cherep a perfect test subject. The stuntman would test out Verde's various flame specific poisons and concoctions under observation and then Verde would then do him a favor. The favors varied from helping him debug his personal computer to wiring in a new security system into his apartment complex and tracking a certain hitman's phone. 

When Cherep had started hacking up flowers it had made perfect sense for him to go to the lightning, because under all of the bickering and exchanges Verde was his friend. More than that, Verde was one of the first of the arcobaleno that he had bonded to on a elemental level. The lightning to his cloud in the Arcobaleno’s skyless harmony. 

Verde frowned at his chest, pulling the stethoscope around his neck as he reached for the notebook. Cherep sighed, he recognized that look. “You really shouldn’t be alive. Your breathing is so weak you should be suffering from the effects of long term oxygen deprivation.” Verde said crossly. “The only reason your not is the near constant use of you flames to propagate the oxygen levels in your blood. Though I'll have to take a blood sample to confirm it.” the scientist turned around do just that. 

”Nothing out of the usual then,” Cherep said with tired smile that was more of a grimace. “Made any progress with the flame suppressants? I still favor plan A over the others honestly, and plan C is just not possible.” 

Verde paused at the drawer he pulled the necessary materials for a blood draw out of. Keiman waddled into the lab from under one of Verde's tables, the sizable gator brushing himself against the underside of Cherep's feet on his way past. “Plan B is still the most reliable solution to this problem Cherep, there is a great possibility your flames have been bolstered by the end of the curse. Though that will also...” Verde swiped a square box off of a nearby table before tossing it at Cherep. It's a flat silver color with both a gauge and a meter on it. “Channel your flames into the that until you hear a chime and I'll see if the suppressant will work. Kaiman where is the disinfectant?” 

Cherep held the box between his palms, visualizing the wispy violet of his soul fire draining into the reader. It was hard to focus over the deep itch of the flowers pressed up in his lungs but he could feel the light drain of the flames siphoning off his soul. 

They had three main plans to deal with Cherep's condition. Plan A was to have Verde do the surgery to get rid of the flowers. He would forget about Reborn but they had compiled a nice impersonal regale of the interactions over the years so that Reborn would never have to know. The problem is that Cherep's flame heal him too fast for Verde to get all of the flowers out and the flame suppressants haven’t worked on Chereps reserves reliably enough. 

Plan B is a straight out confession. Reborn would either reject Skull and Cherep would get over him, or in the unlikely event of reciprocation the flowers would wither and Cherep would be able to heal the damage. 

Plan C has been to try to get over Reborn through distance and the lack of flowers because of the limits of such a young body. The distance had only made the longing worse and the curse was broken. 

The beep is all to quick, making Cherep cut off the flame input. He barely had the chance to look at the readings before Verde snatched it out of his hand. “Don't bother, we both know you won't comprehend it,”Verde said flatly with a smug look on his face at Cherep’s affronted scoff. 

“Rude,” Cherep snapped as Verde grabbed one of his hands after pocketing the scanner. Cherep scowled as Verde wiped his middle finger with the disinfectant, he didn't like finger pricking if only because Verde wasn’t very gentle about it. He pulled his cloud flames away from the finger to make sure Verde had time to wipe away the first blood droplet and still get his sample. “You need better bedside manners.” 

Verde leveled him an unimpressed look from over his glasses, Cherep's bleeding finger in one hand and a handheld analyzer the other. “Most of my test subjects aren't in the position to complain,” He remarked with bemused smile. “This is almost pampering compared to their treatment.” 

Chrep snorted, a wry smile twisting onto his face, “Well thank you.” He said flatly. 

”You can let yourself heal now, I'm done with you.” Verde said, rolling his eyes and pushing Cherep's hand away from him. The small wound vanished in a puff of purple flames, the sight making something nice curve in his chest amongst the bad. The scientist sat back at his main desk, both scanners in front of him on either side of the notebook. Kaiman curled around the bottom of the chair with a satisfied hiss. 

Chrep huffed a laugh as he pulled on his t-shirt, a favorite with a cartoonish Red octopus on the front. “Anything I should do while I wait for the results doc?” He asked sardonically, all too used to the Verdes fixation of research. 

Verde paused again, glancing back at Cherep with a slight scowl. “Yes actually, Talk to that publicist of yours, they keep messaging me. You're the one who gave them my number.” He stated, looking back at the notebook before glancing up, “And leave the mansion until I call you. Reborn has no immediate plans to leave if you want to stay with plan A.” 

Cherep choked harshly as his lungs convulsed around the flowers. He swallowed hard on the petals that threatened to crawl up his throat. “Oh.”He rasped, hand going for his phone. “Yeah, I..I'll do that. Thanks Verde.” 

The scientist waved him off without looking up from his work. A good sign that Verde wouldn't be available for a while. 

Cherep stumbled when he got off the table. Yeah, leaving the mansion sounded good right around now.


End file.
